Redemption
by DeathUponAStick
Summary: Draco realizes his feelings for the girl he had called Mudblood for so long as his Aunt Bellatrix tortures her. Retelling of Malfoy Manor, from Deathly Hallows. DracoHermione.


Part of me, deep down, had hoped Potter would be smart enough to evade the Dark Lord, smart enough to at the very least, stay away until this whole war was over and done with. As much as I did not want to admit it, he had scraped through so many dangers that it was totally plausible he would find a way to stay in hiding long enough—but I had never imagined that he and his companions would ever end up here, in my home.

Revealing Potter would mean redemption for my family, total forgiveness from the Dark Lord. After all, wasn't that what I wanted? I had hated Potter since the moment I had laid eyes on him, and there would be no greater satisfaction but to give him away, to get back at him for every Quidditch match lost, for every spotlight stolen. Why was I showing reluctance now?

I couldn't lie to myself. I hadn't just grown fond of Potter so suddenly. I couldn't say yes that it was Potter, because if I said yes, then that would mean I would be saying yes to all the other people tied to him, and it would be a death sentence to all of them. And I was sure that she was there, with him, that girl that I hadn't seen in so long—

Then I had seen her, Hermione Granger, tied amongst Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, and Dean Thomas. I had expected never to see her again, after Muggle-borns had been banned from Hogwarts. I had hoped never to see her again. I had hoped that like Potter, she too would be clever enough to escape the Dark Lord, clever enough to stay away from this horrible place—

It had been a year since I had seen her last. And surprisingly, her days on the run had not ravaged her at all. It took my hardest not to look at her, at her helpless, tied state. But I could feel her eyes boring into me, a mix of anger and confusion and fear.

The conversation between my aunt, my parents, and Greyback was just a distant echo of voices—just the word Mudblood, surfaced again and again—

Even the red flash of Aunt Bella's stunning spells was eerily distant, the glitter of a sword grasped in her hand—

I was only snapped from my reverie when she turned on me. I flinched.

"Draco, move this scum outside," she said, pointing at the pile of unconscious men on the floor. "If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me."

My mother straightened to her full height. "Don't you dare speak to Draco like—"

"Be quiet!" cried my aunt. "The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!"

But I stood, rooted on the spot. Aunt Bella didn't seem to pay me any notice at all. I was well used to this by now, and I had programmed myself to drift away whenever my aunt and my mother argued.

"Take the prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback." My mother's voice drifted hazily into my head.

"Wait." Aunt Bella's voice was sharp, commanding. "All except…except the Mudblood."

The words stabbed me like a knife. I knew at once what my aunt was going to do. I had seen her do it dozens of times already—to the other Death Eaters, to Muggles, to anyone from whom she could squeeze any amount of pain. She would use any excuse to do it to a Muggle-born.

But out of all the Muggle-borns, it had to be her—

"No!" Weasley cried, angry tears streaming from his face. "You can have me, keep me!"

Aunt Bella slapped him, but he continued to glare at her, defiant. That noble bastard.

"If she dies under questioning, I'll take you next," she sneered. "Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book."

I watched in horror as Aunt Bella pulled out her knife from her robes and cut Hermione free. She pulled the girl by the hair to the middle of the room, and threw her onto the floor.

Hermione glared up at my aunt, as insolent as Weasley. She struggled to her knees before Aunt Bella laughed and dug a heeled boot into her shoulder, knocking her down again. Quickly she pulled out her wand and pointed it at Hermione's chest.

Aunt Bella could have yelled "_Crucio!_" at me and my pain would be a relief compared to watching her. Hermione clenched her teeth, but Aunt Bella knew how to torture someone—soon, her scream pierced through the entire room. She was on the floor, writhing, eyes screwed tight, tears running down her face, staining the carpet a darker purple. I could barely look at her.

"Where did you get the sword?" Aunt Bella demanded.

I could only hear the screaming in my ears, just her screaming, a sound that would haunt me in my nightmares. I felt the squeeze of a hand on my shoulder, and saw my father, his face set and determined.

Aunt Bella circled around her, her wand twisting this way and that, reviving each scream anew. "I'm going to ask you again! Where did you get that sword? _Where?_"

"We found it," Hermione finally gasped, staring pleadingly at her. "We found it—PLEASE!"

_They found it_, I thought. _Yes, they found it. Isn't that the answer you were looking for, Aunt Bella? You can stop now, can't you?_

"You are a lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth"—Aunt Bella twisted her wand, and Hermione's screams grew louder—"_Tell the truth!_"

Another higher, harsher scream—

Aunt Bella swooped and grabbed her collar. As she kept the curse going, in her very same hand she held a knife steady at her throat.

"What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!"

Aunt Bella threw her down and kicked her in the ribs. Hermione whimpered in pain.

"What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! _CRUCIO!_" I knew she saw my face, and was enjoying this. She was enjoying torturing me as much as she enjoyed torturing her—

"How did you get into my vault?" she demanded. She drew her wand back, and I thought that she would let the girl rest, at least, but she only flicked her wrist and the girl's body jerked, as if hit by a whip. "Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?"

"We met him tonight!" Her cries struck me worse than a stun spell as Aunt Bella repeated the motion over and over again. "We've never been inside your vault…It isn't a real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!"

"A copy?" Aunt Bella's laugh sent shivers down my spine. "Oh, a likely story!"

My father must have sensed the tension in my shoulder, for he spoke up. "We can find that out easily," he said. He pushed me forward. "Draco, fetch the goblin. He can tell us whether the sword is real or not!"

"But—"

"Go, Draco." My father's tone was quiet and final.

Begrudgingly, I went down to the cellar, my feet totally separate from my mind. My father had known that watching Hermione Granger had stirred something within me. He wanted to get rid of me so I would not do anything foolish. After all, the Dark Lord was merciful enough to let us still serve him, despite my father's failure.

We were walking a thin line, now. Speaking up for a Mudblood would surely seal our fate for good—

I reached the door. I pulled the key from my pocket and unlocked the cell with a trembling hand.

"Stand back! Line up against the back wall. Don't try anything, or I'll kill you!" I tried to make my voice intimidating, just like during our school days, but all that emerged was a dry croak. I held up my wand as I opened the door.

The six of them were lined up on the wall. Even frail Mr. Ollivander, supported by Luna Lovegood. Dean Thomas stood beside her, a frightened look on his face, one hand on Luna's shoulder. Weasley stood there, glaring at me. I could see tears from his eyes as he let breathed out deep, heavy breaths. It took him all his strength not to throw himself at me. Part of me understood why.

The goblin stood by Potter. Potter's heated glower was only overcome by Weasley's. Without glancing at him I grabbed the goblin's arm and dragged him out as quickly as I could, waving my wand threateningly before I slammed the door shut.

When I had brought the goblin up, my aunt had gestured towards me.

"Draco!" she beckoned. She looked crazed, an evil grin on her face. "Why don't you try? You knew the Mudblood—"

I realized that the screams had stopped and Hermione Granger was curled on the floor, body limp, eyes blank and streaming tears as she gasped hungrily for air, left with the agonizing echoes of the _Cruciatus _curse. She looked so helpless, and I had the driving urge to kneel down and embrace her shaking body, to stroke her hair and whisper into her ear that everything was going be all right, all right—

But at the glares from my parents and aunt, I let go of the goblin and held up my wand. My arm was heavy and trembling.

I knew it took all her strength to do as much as raise her head, but she did it anyway, eyeing me silently. She was gasping for air through grit teeth and beneath her tears, I could see her anger, her threatening glare, despite all that pain. The nerve of her, staring at a Death Eater like that. Filthy little Gryffindor—

I knew that if Dumbledore had been Headmaster, Hermione Granger would have been Head Girl. During my sixth year, I had frequently toyed with the thought of she, as Head Girl, and I, as Head Boy, and despite myself I had come to like the prospect. Even if she didn't like me, we would be forced to talk to each other. Perhaps, for once, the word "Mudblood" would not slip from my tongue and I would have the courage to say something decent to her.

But that would never happen, would it? There wasn't a smiling girl with a Head Girl badge shining from her school robe—no, there was a girl trembling on the floor.

"Come on, Draco, do it!" Aunt Bella gave me a nudge.

"Cr—crucio," I mumbled, but there wasn't as much as a spark from my wand.

Our eyes met. Perhaps there was some understanding there, some realization that this was torturing me more than her. Maybe I was just imagining things, just as I had imagined things this entire year.

"Are you feeling soft for the Mudblood?" Aunt Bella sneered.

"No," I stammered. "I—"

What was I going to say? I liked her? Loved her?

Aunt Bella laughed. "You have to mean it, Draco." She lifted her wand once more. "Like this. _Crucio!_"

Hermione's body tensed. She writhed on the floor, fingers trembling, another scream escaping from her throat. It was horrible.

"Tell me what else you found, you little liar!" Aunt Bella sneered. She twisted her wand, and Hermione let out another agonizing scream. This seemed to go on forever—

There was a popping noise from the cellar. I thanked God for this interruption, for Aunt Bella lifted her wand, and she stopped screaming, left to sob quietly into the carpet. Hermione was crumpled on the floor, her whole body shaking as she was left once more to suffer the ache of the _Cruciatus _curse.

"Draco!" my father snapped, but I could only stand there, rooted on the spot, eyes fixed on the girl I had known for six years.

I wished she wasn't a Gryffindor, those brave bastards. She was unyielding, even in the face of torture. If she weren't a Gryffindor, she would have begged for death, and at Aunt Bella's hand, the killing curse was a mercy.

My father groaned in frustration. "No, call Wormtail! Make him go and check!"

There was a shuffling in the room, but I could see nothing but a suffering Hermione Granger.

As a Muggle-born, she couldn't possibly have gone back to Hogwarts. I knew that. But still, as I read that news in the _Daily Prophet_, I felt a pang realizing that I would never see Hermione Granger again. Of course, I figured that I would forget about her. I would be occupied with my new title of Head Boy and my family's debt to the Dark Lord.

Besides, I had Pansy, and if I tired of her, I could have any other girl I wanted. Anyone but a filthy Mudblood—

I never realized I would miss her that much.

Aunt Bella had lifted Hermione off her feet and I thought, for one terrifying moment, that she would keep her word and run her through with the knife—but there was a sickening thud as she kicked her and Hermione fell to the ground, still. I thanked God that she had escaped from at least some of her suffering—

"Well?" Aunt Bellatrix snapped at the goblin. I had forgotten he was there. "Is it a true sword?"

"No," the goblin said. "It is a fake."

While she was preoccupied I knelt next to Hermione. I gently brushed away the hair from her face and was relieved to see her breathing, as if she were merely sleeping and in the middle of a pleasant dream.

"Are you sure?" Aunt Bella was quite out of breath. "Quite sure?"

"Yes," he said.

"Good," she muttered, looking quite relieved.

I hoped they would keep talking, so they wouldn't notice me. Everyone was staring at the goblin, who was scrambling on the ground clawing at his face.

"And now," she said triumphantly, "We call the Dark Lord!"

I couldn't move from this spot, beside her. With hesitant fingers I brushed her wet cheek. I heard her whimper. "It's all right," I murmured. I couldn't believe I was doing this, at all—

Once again, I had that foolish thought in my head that I would protect her, that I would stand up to my parents and my aunt for once and tell them, no, I didn't want to this anymore, that they couldn't hurt this girl as long as I stood alive. I would rescue her from this horrid place and we would hide somewhere, anywhere, until this war was over—

I stood, and opened my mouth, to finally throw away my cowardice.

"And I think," Aunt Bella mumbled, her back still to us, "we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!" A blur of red tumbled into the room. "_Expelliarmus!_" And Aunt Bella's weapon flew out of her hand.

A hand had grabbed a handful of my cloak and pulled me back. I looked to see my terrified mother, her grip constricting my arm.

"_Stupefy!_" Potter had appeared. A red light shot from his wand and hit my father, who collapsed into a heap on the floor.

Complete chaos reigned. Despite my shaking hands I tried to stun my aunt, who had dove towards Hermione, intent on prolonging her suffering despite the loss of her wand. But she moved too fast, and the surrounding flashes of red and green were overwhelming—I could barely see anyone, or anything—

"STOP OR SHE DIES!" My aunt's screams ceased the flashes at once. We all wheeled around to see Aunt Bella, one arm supporting Hermione, the other holding a small, silver knife pressed against her neck.

"Drop your wands." Her voice was a manic whisper. "Drop them, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is!"

Weasley and Potter hesitated, their wands still at the ready.

"I said, drop them!" Aunt Bella said, crazed. I flinched as she pressed the blade in further, and a thin strip of scarlet emerged onto the stainless silver.

_Drop the wands, you bloody bastards,_ I silently begged them.

As if reading my mind, Potter snapped, "All right!" and his wand fell from his hand. Weasley followed, his eyes still on Aunt Bella, an hatred as red as his hair evident on his face.

"Good!" she sneered. "Draco, pick them up!" I kept my feet planted, at first, but my mother finally lessened her grip and nudged me forward. I stumbled and before I knew it, I was scrambling to collect the wands.

"The Dark Lord is coming," Aunt Bella said above me. "Harry Potter! Your death approaches!"

It was then did I realize how afraid I was of her. Her eyes were sadistic, thirsting for blood and more screams, more suffering, and as much as I wanted to stand up to her, I could only shrink further into my cowardice.

"Cissy," she said to my mother, "I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood." She turned to the werewolf, who looked hungry and eager. "I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight."

At those words, a sudden flash of hatred stole through me. I wanted nothing more than to have the heavy chandelier fall on her, and from the peculiar and tinkling noises from up above, I thought that perhaps my wish was coming true—

The subsequent crash of metal and glass was a bit surreal, to say the least. I heard my mother scream my name, and my aunt curse as she dove out of the way. My hands shielding my face, I could only think of Hermione.

As the shards ran down I ran towards her, hoping that she was all right, before Potter grabbed me and wrestled the wands from my hand. I fought back—I didn't care if he had the wands, I needed to see if she was all right—

Another flash of red, and Greyback screeched and was silent. He deserved it, the monster—

I scrambled to my feet but I was pulled back again by my mother. I could hear her whispering my name as she kept her savage grip on me, refusing to let go as all disorder unfolded. I blindly fought against her hold, my only thoughts on the girl who was crushed under the weight of the chandelier. I would never forgive myself if she died—

There was another loud pop, and all was still again. My vision was hot and blurred as I saw only the bodies of Greyback and my father, and Aunt Bella, frightening and crazed. No sign of Potter or Weasley or Hermione Granger—

They had escaped.

I fell to the ground, exhausted and relieved.

"Draco?" my mother knelt over me. I could barely see the outline of her face.

The Dark Lord arrived shortly afterward. In his fury he had performed the Cruciatus on each of us, and we were forced to watch. Aunt Bella only cowered in her pathetic manner before him as he tortured her, something I sensed, that they both enjoyed very much.

My turn came next. The pleas from my mother sounded far away, as the Dark Lord peered at me through his narrow, slit-like eyes.

It was as if he knew what I felt, the anger towards my parents, my aunt, him. But it was not my hatred towards the Dark Lord he reveled. As much as I tried to block him out of my head, he easily pushed me aside and I heard him laughing, jeering at my fantasies of Draco Malfoy as Head Boy and Hermione Granger as Head Girl, of this absurd dream that I would save her, that she would ever love me, that I was just some fool. His laughter echoed as loud as her screams. I was going crazy—

He grinned his malicious, sadistic grin, half anger, half pleasure. The dreaded word issued from his white lips and each member of my body was wrenched in excruciating angles. I could hear my mother's sobs, distantly.

I grit my teeth, refusing to let him hear the pleasure of my voice.

I did deserve it, after all.


End file.
